The nurse at the dispatch station informed her that the other Nessinians were either off duty or busy with patients. That seemed like a promising sign. A young Kaveran doctor’s apprentice named Cavi was summoned to show her around instead. Cavi seemed to be no more than fourteen, in his first few years of apprenticing, and was eager to show off what he knew. Agna unbuckled her shoulder bag and pulled out a notebook and pencil to take notes.
The Wildern hospital was hardly a quarter the size of Blackhall, the hospital in Murio where Agna had done her practicum two lifetimes ago. The whole of it would fit into Blackhall’s geriatric wing alone. But in its simple halls fit a piece of every corner of the healing profession. In her notebook Agna sketched out the administrative stations, the emergency bay, the obstetrics ward, the offices where outpatients were checked and treated, and the wards with a little of every ordinary malady a growing town might see, from broken legs to food poisoning to tumors. The hospital’s specialties seemed to lie in accident treatment and reconstructive surgery, calling to mind Fulvia’s boast about Ettore’s skill. The specificity seemed odd for a hospital so far out in the country. Agna weeded out every controversial word she could find until she could ask, “How did the hospital come to have so much focus on reconstructive surgery?”
“It did since the start,” the apprentice answered. “On account of the logging industry. They’re safer now than they used to be, but…” He trailed off, glancing around the hall. He stepped backwards into an empty preparation room, waving Agna after him, and shut the door behind them. “They joke around here, it was either that or prosthetics. Which we also do. But they try reattachment first. That’s why the Tufarians and the Balance healers are so important. Sorry about the door. It’s not something you want to say around people. Outside people.”
“I understand. It’s all right.”
“But yeah. Lots of fingers and limbs getting cut off out there. Well, not lots, but some every year. And people come up for other things now that word’s got around. Birth defects and burn scars, stuff like that. We’ll take ‘em too. When people come to your hospital from the other end of the country, you have to be proud.” His beaming was contagious. Agna remembered her pride in Blackhall and the Academy, when she was convinced that they were the source of all legitimate knowledge. But what this apprentice had absorbed here wasn’t that all other hospitals were inferior, but that they had something special to offer the world. It was heartening that he could start his career with such an attitude.
They ducked out of the prep room and looped through the halls to the central atrium. Agna glanced past the painting between the staircases. On her first trip to this building, she’d been stopped dead by a painting of her Academy mentor, turning up for no reason in the middle of a construction crew at the far end of a foreign country. She knew the reasons for his presence now, and why he had hidden them from her, but it was still a reminder that Rone had been here first. She wasn’t forging new ground; some part of her was still second-best, still the runner-up.
But, she reminded herself as they walked, Rone hadn’t been a healer. They weren’t in competition, not only because he wouldn’t stand for it, but because they had different skills and different goals. Her healing art had taken her all around this country, helping people in dozens of villages and at nameless country crossroads. And now her skill would give her a role in a well-ordered organization, dedicated to helping the people of this growing city. Rone had been here first, but her place in the hospital would belong only to her.
Temporarily, she reminded herself. Till the gallery took off.
She thanked Cavi and promised to report to his mentor about his excellent tour. He bounded off into the halls.
Turning the rest of the way toward the front doors, Agna took a deep breath and slipped her notebook and pencil into her bag. She pushed the doors open onto a cool spring afternoon and set out on the hike back to her new home.
Keifon: Contributions
Keifon’s shoulders and biceps ached as he pushed the doors open and walked into the afternoon sun. After two years of carrying gear around the back country, packing and unpacking and setting up tents, one day shouldn’t have worn him out so much, but he’d begun to feel it. Dr. Rushu had been frank about needing an apprentice to push the patients’ gurneys and lift them in and out of beds, and she had offered a running commentary on the patients’ conditions for his trouble. His arms were exhausted, but his mind hummed with all he’d learned.
He turned opposite the way that would take him to Agna’s house, heading across the main slope of the city that rose up toward the foothills. A few blocks away, he could see the scaffolding of a grand new building — a courthouse or a church — and so he headed for it, curious and wanting to see more of the city. He needed time for the day’s rush of activity and information to sink into his memory, like rain after a storm.
The houses grew larger and further apart, interspersed with law offices, counting houses and dancing schools. The sounds of hammering and the crash of falling bricks drew him closer to the scaffolding.
Keifon stopped across the street from the work site to watch. The workers climbed among the wooden beams. Most seemed to work with trowels and chisels, but several earthbreakers laid hands on the stones, pushing them into place and fusing them to the surrounding stones. The outlines of the building had only begun to form. It was a massive building, half as large as the Benevolent Union’s base. Beyond that, he couldn’t identify it yet. A church, perhaps.
He hadn’t noted the locations of churches on his two brief visits to Wildern — one sightseeing day with Agna, one pass through the center of the city toward the road to Ceien. He hadn’t worried about things like furniture stores and firewood and places of worship. They were here somewhere, and someday soon he would have to — want to — find a place, a group with whom to worship. They would be Kaverans, lifelong residents; they might not welcome his kind. But they would be followers of the same gods, travelers along the same path.
The thought of trying to ingratiate himself with a new congregation made him restless. He turned a corner away from the half-finished church and began to climb the long hill that sloped from the canal to the mountains. The road was narrower at the top of the hill, the buildings crowded close and packed with windowboxes, flags, signs, and hanging laundry. It was the sort of neighborhood that had drawn him as a teenager in Ceien — where the merchants accepted their money, didn’t ask questions, and let the young enjoy their brief window of freedom.
At this hour, children ran home from school as their parents’ cooking fires billowed the scents of bread and stew into the street. Realizing that he hadn’t eaten since this morning, Keifon conceded that he would have to head back to Agna’s house. She would already be at the hospital for the evening shift, but she would have left him dinner, despite his protests that he would provide for himself while he stayed there.
Before he left the neighborhood, he took one more look around, to remember the layout of the streets and to note any shops he might want to revisit. There was another butcher’s shop — he’d have to compare their prices to those closer to Agna’s house — and what seemed to be the corner of an Eytran church in the distance, with a thatched roof and open, unglassed windows.
His gaze caught on a man sitting at the base of a wall, a few doors away. A tight feeling closed around Keifon’s throat as he approached the man. He never quite formed the words in his head, this could have been me. His body tolled it like a funeral bell. But as the man shook his cup, Keifon smiled and knelt to face him. The man’s legs were missing below the knees, and the wooden crutches leaning against the wall seemed like an incomplete substitute.
Keifon slipped a gold coin into the cup, enough to buy a good meal. It was all he could spare. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
The man narrowed his eyes at him as if seeing him for the first time, and set his cup aside. “You from the Eytrans? No, they don’t have any of you northerners, and no
hood either. What d’you want?”
“Nothing,” Keifon said. “Just offering. I’m not with the Eytran church. I’m training to be a doctor with the Benevolent Union, but I’m not on duty right now. Just out for a walk.”
“Yeah, well.” The man looked past his elbow, at the street. “I don’t take charity. Not from the Eytrans, not from the southern devils, and not from some squint-eyed northern fancy boy either.”
Keifon kept his face blank. He’d already taken insults about his Yanweian identity from patients over the course of the day, right in front of Dr. Rushu. He wasn’t sure what the man meant by “the southern devils” — maybe the Benevolent Union, since it was headquartered in Vertal. Ultimately, it didn’t matter; the point was that Keifon was unwelcome, for a multitude of reasons.
He remembered the lines that people drew between pride and shame, between begging on the street and “accepting charity.” It mattered, even if he had the luxury of ignoring such such distinctions now. He remembered how much it had mattered that he’d bought his gutter wine with money he’d earned with his music. It had been all he had left to anchor his humanity.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll leave you be, but I’ll be around tomorrow. I’m new in town, and I’m still learning the city. So I’ll see you sometime.” He stood, backing out of the man’s space, and gave the Kaveran greeting wave. “My name is Keifon the Medic. Nice to meet you.”
The man’s eyes flicked to the cup. He’d know the sound of gold and copper; Keifon had been able to tell silver from copper when they hit his nanbur case, in the dark days. In Yanwei, no one gave a nameless beggar gold.
“Gaf,” the man said.
Keifon searched his memory. It wasn’t a Kaveran name he’d heard before, nor a word he knew. But he would hope that he’d understood. “Pleasure to meet you, Gaf.”
Gaf grumbled. “You aren’t a cop. They wouldn’t take on Yans either. So I’ll say. You want to be a do-gooder, go talk to Keiva on the canal.”
“Keiva on the canal. Thank you very much for the information.” Keifon dropped a few coppers into the cup. He began to imagine two plans at once — gathering advice about the city, and making himself useful. Foolhardy, perhaps, when he owed Agna so much and had so far to go in rebuilding his life. But for now, he had a feeling that this was the right path.
Gaf’s swearing followed him down the block, but Keifon smiled to himself as he turned toward Agna’s house. He might be adrift, and he hadn’t found a place to worship or a new family. But he could be of use to someone.
* * *
The canal, he’d learned in bits and scraps over the last week, had been built by the Kaveran government and the Benevolent Union to connect the city to the country’s network of canals. It had been a boon to the logging industry, and the first stage of the improvement and expansion that produced the Benevolent Union base.
That was its history. In the present, it ran along the entire southeastern edge of the city, and would take at least an hour to search from one end of the city to the other. Keifon waited until he had some daylight hours to explore and to seek out his new contact. He’d have to work tonight, but he wanted to begin early in the day, when he’d have time to find this Keiva person.
He finished the day’s errands first, scrubbing the bathroom and buying the ingredients for dinner. The self-imposed limit to his quest was to return to Agna’s house in time to cook dinner before she got home from the day shift. He would try this new endeavor, but he would not let it overtake his new life.
On his way down the long hill, he stopped in at some shops and filled his market bag with bread, wax-dipped cheese, dried beef, and apples. It was an expense he couldn’t keep up for long, but a peace offering might ease his way if the new contact were anything like Gaf.
Keifon let his anger cool as he passed out of Agna’s neighborhood and into the next, heading toward a wall of blank wooden warehouses at the foot of the hill. He didn’t know what the old man had lived through, and even though his hatred was unfair, it wasn’t personal. Surely not everyone in Wildern was biased against Yanweians. The shopping couple they’d met on their first day — the teacher and the weaver — had been friendly, as was Jaeti, and the shopkeepers he’d met, and the staff at the hospital. He would be polite and bring gifts and try not to resent having to do so. Dr. Rushu was a respected member of the senior staff, after all, and he had to remember — and believe — that she wasn’t respected here because of her distinguished family lineage. She’d earned it by her actions, like something from one of Kazi’s populist speeches. And so, too, could he. In time.
Between the warehouses, wagons loaded up crates of goods and sawn boards. In the narrower alleys, he spotted signs of habitation — a slumped pack in a corner, a pile of empty bottles. Closer to the canal, the smell of water overtook the city smells of baking cobblestones and garbage. In the alleys a few people lingered, huddled in the shade. Keifon passed by, watching for someone who might greet him peacefully, who might point him the right way.
A paved walkway ran along the canal, separated from the warehouses by a strip of soil and trees. Keifon walked up to the iron railing overlooking the canal and leaned on it. The weight of the market bag swung forward, and he steadied it with one hand.
Even if he didn’t complete his task, he’d learn more about the city. This walkway, where it ran closer to the center of town in the distance, might make a nice place for a morning walk with Agna. And they would eat everything he’d bought, if he couldn’t give it away.
A barge passed by, loaded with logs, and Keifon watched it float downriver. It passed under a bridge, and Keifon spotted a trickle of smoke emerging from under the bridge. He craned over the railing to get a better view, but the angle of the bank hid the space in shadows. A cooking fire or a trash fire — either way, it demanded attention. A break in the railing led to an access stair toward the edge of the canal. His foot slipped on a patch of algae on the stair, and he grabbed the railing as the bag banged against it, making the bars reverberate. Keifon stopped and calmed his breathing. Some help he’d be, tumbling into the canal.
As he gathered his wits, a child burst around the corner at the foot of the stairs and blocked his way. She was a girl of nine or ten, with her wild hair cut short. “Hey, who are you?”
A guard, a sentry? Keifon slowly opened his market bag. “Hi, my name is Keifon the Medic. I’m a doctor’s apprentice. Gaf told me I should meet Keiva.” He didn’t mention the food, but left it as an implication.
The young scout scrutinized him. “Keifon the Yanweian doctor. Stay here.”
“I will.” He waited as the scout dashed into the shadows under the bridge. She should have been in school. Back home, she’d be a year away from an apprenticeship. Of course, in the bars in Ceien, he’d met plenty of other teenagers who had been fending for themselves since they were ten or younger. Fan, his first girlfriend, had been in that situation, before she found herself an apprenticeship in Nijin.
It was strange to think of her now, several lifetimes later. He hoped she’d made a life for herself as a silversmith, with the name she’d borrowed. What she’d done had been wrong, but he secretly, selfishly hoped she’d get away with it, and grappled with his guilt in his prayers.
The little scout returned at the elbow of a middle-aged woman wearing a patterned kerchief. Keifon nodded and waited for her to address him first.
“Hey there.” She shooed the scout along, and the girl ran past the stairs to take up a post further upriver.
“Good morning, ma’am. I was told I should come and see you if I want to help.”
Her smile was weary and cynical. “That’s a fair statement. How are you aiming to help?”
He held out the bag, hoping guiltily that he’d get it back empty. “However I can. I ran into a man named Gaf when I was out walking, and he said I ought to talk to you. I’m a doctor’s apprentice. I just moved to Wildern last week.”
“Huh. Tufarians? Benevolents? Or indep
endent?”
“Benevolents, but I’m acting on my own right now. I’m glad to give medical aid if I can. If you don’t want charity, I’d be happy to trade for advice, information about the city.”
Keiva waved off the idea as she poked through the satchel. “I’ve got no protest against free food. Call it what you want, as long as you don’t preach at us as payment. We can go to the Eytrans for that.”
“That’s not my intention, ma’am.” He opened and closed his hands. “In Yanwei I had a bad — few years. I ended up on the street for a while. The Daranites helped me in return for army service. I’m still paying that debt. And I owe them my life. But I don’t want anything in return from anyone here. If they want to help me in exchange, with their knowledge, I would appreciate it. But otherwise it’s freely given.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Except I’d appreciate the bag back, if it’s no trouble.”
“Hah. Yeah, let’s go unload.” She waved him after her as she headed for the shade under the bridge. Watching his footing, Keifon followed her to the foot of the stairs and took stock of his surroundings. A narrow stone walkway ran along each side of the canal, for horses to pull the barges, only a few feet above the current water level. Dark marks on the walls suggested that heavy rains had submerged it entirely at least once. The shadow of the bridge ahead sheltered what looked like a cluster of people, and the bright spark of a fire seemed to be the source of the smoke he’d seen.
Keiva spoke over her shoulder. “You should know, those in my camp choose not to take the churches’ charity, for one reason or another. Some have quarrels with those that do, but I don’t. Of course, somebody out there has a quarrel no matter what you do.”
He was finally able to chuckle. “True.”
As the shadow passed over his head, his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The smoke he’d seen issued from a cooking fire, where a massive pot bubbled and gave off the smell of cooking vegetables. Along the wall a few more people, most of them elderly, sat and lay in the shade. Keifon nodded to them as he followed Keiva to the fireside.
The Healers' Home Page 6
